Quid Pro Quo
by vcg73
Summary: Kurt and Santana strike an unexpected bargain.
1. Chapter 1

The bullies leered, the fetid stench of their hot, over-eager breath driving Kurt further into the corner he had inadvertently allowed himself to be maneuvered against. There would be no getting out of it this time. Finn, Puck, Matt and Mike were all at baseball practice, and nobody else was likely to care if he got beaten to a bloody pulp outside the gym where Cheerios practice had just finished.

He trembled at the unholy enjoyment filling their eyes as the two behemoths flexed their fists and grinned at his obvious fear, feeding off the emotion that he was unable to hide.

Kurt had been harassed by people like these since grade-school. There was always somebody ready to pick on his small stature, his too-high voice, his geek/loser status, or more recently, his sexuality. He had been slammed into walls and lockers, half-drowned by a river of frozen corn-syrupy drinks, and lost his dignity more times than he cared to recall to dumpsters, wedgies, pee-balloons and pantsings. (Though, oddly enough the latter had stopped with his official coming-out. Apparently there was some advantage to stupid jocks thinking they might catch gay cooties from touching him.) But this was different. Azimio and Karofsky had been forced to back down last time and now they were after blood. _His_ blood.

Cracking his ridiculously large knuckles, Azimio laughed. "Any last words, Hummel?"

Flaying strips off guys like these with his quick wits and razor-sharp tongue had always been Kurt's best defense, but right now the sheer terror screaming through his brain had effectively removed any chance of a clever comeback.

"Just get it over with, you cowards" he grated, clenching his teeth in the hope that none of them would be knocked out by the pulverizing to come.

Karofsky sneered. "Well, since you ask so nice."

The jock's fist reared back and Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, flinching in anticipation of the pain that was about to be inflicted, but the expected blow never came. Instead a wild howl that reminded Kurt of that old warrior-princess show his dad had liked when he was little suddenly filled his ears.

Opening his eyes, Kurt could only stare in awe and admiration as Santana Lopez appeared and proceeded to go mediaeval on the two hulking athletes. Eyes were gouged, guts were elbowed, Azimio bellowed as his nose gave with a distinct crunch when Santana grabbed it between her knuckles and wrenched, and then Karofsky hit a high note that even Kurt would have been hard-pressed to match when the best back-handspringer on the Cheerios brought him to his knees with a well-aimed kick.

"Lay a hand on my boy again and I'll _really_ give you something to cry about," she snarled, patting her still immaculate ponytail into place as she turned a contemptuous back on the blubbering bullies and linked her elbow with Kurt's. "Come on, loser. I'll buy you a Slushie."

Too stunned to say a word, the wide-eyed countertenor simply obeyed, escorting her back inside the school building.

In the end it was he who purchased two of the grape-flavored beverages, following Santana to the empty choral practice room to drink them. They sat down on plastic chairs and stared at each other in silence. Santana demurely crossed her long legs and sipped at her drink, as unruffled as if she single handedly beat up a pair of bullies every day before breakfast.

Kurt took a deep gulp of his Slushie, trying to compose his thoughts, and jumped when Santana told him, "Careful, Hummel. You'll give yourself a brain-freeze."

The acerbic comment finally loosened his tongue. "I can't believe you just did that! How? _Why_?"

She shrugged. "Mr. Schuester and Miss Sylvester might not have anything else in common, but they both teach that you never let your teammates down, and I happen to agree with them." Taking another small sip, she set her cup down on the floor and laced her fingers over her knee, looking him straight in the eye. "I also believe that when you do somebody a favor, you get to ask for one in return."

Kurt also put his drink down, copying her pose and straightening his spine. He should have known that this was going to cost him. She was right, though. He owed her, big time, and he would pay up, no matter what she asked. "Let's hear it."

"I want you."

Certain that he must have heard wrong, Kurt blinked. "What?"

"You macking on Brittany upped her rep big-time," she said calmly. "She told me all about it, so I know you were just trying to impress your dad or something weird like that, but now everyone in school is saying that Brittany must be the hottest girl around because even the gay kid couldn't keep his hands off her. All I want is an equal or better shot."

Kurt was tempted to throw the ice-cold Slushie in his face just to find out for sure whether or not he was awake. First the warrior-chick had come to his rescue and now she wanted to get into his pants. He felt like he had been accidentally sucked inside some straight guy's wet-dream. "What do you mean, better?"

Santana smiled and somehow the expression frightened him even more than the bullies had. "All you did with Brit was make out, right? Kissing? A little friendly groping?"

He nodded mutely, meekly, fearing that he knew what she was about to request and embarrassingly sure that he would not be up to it. No pun intended.

"I want a date," she stated flatly.

For a moment, he could not process the statement. Then relief and confusion swept over him with equal strength. "You want to go on a date," he repeated. "With me."

"Very fancy and very public," she negotiated. "You'll ask me out in front of the entire glee club tomorrow, which should spread the news everywhere else by lunch-time, then tomorrow night you'll pick me up at my house and let my parents interrogate you before taking me out on the most expensive, elegant, cliché-perfect date you can think of. When it's over, you'll kiss me goodnight. And it better be a _real_ kiss, not just some prissy little peck on the cheek."

She glared as she issued that final order and Kurt gulped, more intimidated by the Santana stink-eye than he would ever admit to anyone.

"That's it?" he asked slowly. "Just a date and a goodnight kiss?"

Pondering the question for a moment, she nodded. "Yes. Do it and I'll consider us even. By Monday, all the jocks will be reconsidering the urge to pound you and the entire school will be convinced that I'm even more irresistible than Brittany."

It made a strange kind of sense, he had to admit. Cautiously relieved, he tested the parameters. "And I _don't_ have to make out with you, right?"

She smirked. "Most people will assume you did anyway. But no, Hummel, I'm a realist. I know I don't have what it takes to be your type."

What she said was absolutely true, but Kurt wondered why he still felt insulted anyway.

"Just one condition."

One elegant black eyebrow lifted in question.

Holding out his right hand, he said, "Call me Kurt."

Santana's small warm hand gripped it firmly. "Deal."


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning, Kurt's alarm clock rescued him from a disturbing nightmare of being staked out in the middle of the football field with his friends, all dressed in gladiator-garb and singing Queen's "We Are the Champions", battling the wrestling team with plastic swords, while Coach Sylvester stood on a pedestal above the mêlée bellowing, "Put your backs into it! Nobody leaves until I see blood! Haven't you ever attended a Virgin Sacrifice before?"

Kurt got dressed in one of his favorite outfits, hoping the clothing would give him courage for what was to come, and went upstairs, breathing a sigh of relief at the realization that nobody was left at home. He had been afraid someone might force him to eat breakfast, and though he normally ate as enthusiastically as any other growing teenager – if a bit more healthily – today he was seriously afraid that he would not be able to keep it down if he tried.

The knots in his stomach grew tighter as he drove to school and headed for first-period Glee practice, with all the enthusiasm of a man heading for the gallows. He went to sit in his usual top-row seat, feeling Santana's challenging gaze spearing him like a butterfly on a cork board with every step.

Kurt could not have said what anyone sang that day, or what Mr. Schuester had chosen to expound on as the week's object lesson – something he did every Friday without fail. All he knew was that Mercedes, Finn and Artie had all tried to get his attention at some point, an effort that he'd staunchly ignored in favor of watching minutes slip away on the clock that hung over the door.

Finally, Mr. Shue sharply clapped his hands together and asked if anyone had anything to say before class was dismissed for the week. Feeling a bit like he was having an out-of-body experience, Kurt raised his hand.

"Kurt," Mr. Shue said, smiling encouragingly. "You've been pretty quiet today. What's on your mind?"

Rising on shaky legs, Kurt moved down the steps to stand before the piano, gripping the instrument with both hands as he looked at Santana Lopez. "I just . . ." He swallowed, clearing his throat when his usually smooth voice emerged as more of a croak. "Santana? You did something yesterday that made me realize just how amazing you really are, and I . . . If you're not busy, I'd like to take you out on a date tonight, to say thanks."

The last sentence came out in a rush, so tight with nervousness that he sounded as if his vocal chords had been high-jacked by the Chipmunks, but the words had clearly been understood if all the slack jaws and bulging eyes in the room were anything to go by.

Having half-expected that Santana had only asked him to do this so she could enjoy the humiliation of turning him down in public, Kurt breathed a silent sigh of relief when the hard-edged cheerleader simply glanced around, scribbled something on a piece of paper and said, "Pick me up at seven," before flouncing out of the practice room.

#~#~#~#~#

"You guys, for the hundredth time, I am _not_ crazy, I am _not_ drunk, I have _not_ gone bi-sexual, and Santana has not put a **hit** out on my father!"

He glared at Artie as he stated that last point and the wheelchair-bound boy just shrugged. "It seemed like a valid theory."

"Then what is it?" Mercedes demanded with an impatient toss of her head. "Either she is holding some kind of major blackmail over your head, or you've completely lost your mind."

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose. The interrogation had not let up all day long. He had been receiving notes and text-messages in every class, weird glances in the hallway, and a peppering of curious and disbelieving questions from every single one of his friends. He had resisted the urge to tell anyone what really happened, embarrassed to admit that he had just stood in a corner and gaped like an idiot while Santana staged her rescue.

"Karofsky and Azimio," he confessed. School was finally out for the day, and he could see that Artie, Tina and Mercedes had no intention of letting him go home without giving a real answer. "They cornered me yesterday and were about to turn me into cheerleader pate when Santana showed up. She helped me fight them off, so in return I'm buying her dinner. Okay?"

Mercedes looked impressed. "I saw Azimio's nose. Santana did that?"

Slightly miffed that she had assumed, however correctly, that Santana had been the one to inflict the damage, Kurt nodded.

Tina's face wrinkled in confusion. "That was really . . . **nice** of her."

"Almost as if she _likes_ you or something," Artie agreed with a dramatic shiver. "It's creepy."

Mercedes, happy to be in the know at last, patted Kurt on the arm and flashed him a wicked grin. "Better watch out there, boyfriend. After dinner, she might try to mate with you and then bite off your head."

"Very funny," he grumbled, closing his locker with a slam. "If you'll excuse me, I have some preparations to make."

"It's been nice knowing you, Kurt!" Artie called after him as he walked away.

Getting into the spirit, Tina added, "We'll be sure to sing something nice at the funeral!"

Ignoring them all, Kurt picked up his pace and practically jogged toward the exit. He was never going to live this down.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt stared at his clothes, eyes traveling over the wide variety of choices with dismay. For once in his life, he had no idea what to wear. What was appropriate for an elegant but platonic first (and last) date with a girl he considered more of a comrade than a friend? Especially when that girl would probably kick his ass if he screwed up and failed to show her a good time.

He needed a hetero point of view. Finn was not available, having left an hour ago with Puck and Matt for some kind of weekend baseball fantasy-camp thing that Kurt had had no interest in hearing about. So that left just one choice.

"Dad!" he shouted, having heard the sound of his father's truck pulling in several minutes ago. "Can you come down here, please?"

A minute later, a familiar heavy tread hit the basement steps. Burt Hummel smiled at the sight of his son standing before the closet in blue boxers and a silk v-neck undershirt, glowering darkly at his colorful wardrobe. "Fashion emergency?" he quipped.

"Exactly, and I would really appreciate your help in resolving it."

Surprise flickered over Burt's face. "You know I was only kidding."

Kurt turned to face him. "I wasn't. I have to go on a date tonight and I need the perfect ensemble, but I can't decide what that is."

"Date?" he repeated, helping himself to a seat on Kurt's bed. "That mean some guy asked you out? Well, that . . . that's great. Good for you. Do I know him?"

Kurt had to give his dad high points for trying to sound so casual, especially since he looked like he was about to pass out. "It's not like that. Unfortunately, I still seem to be one of a kind at McKinley High," he admitted, smiling as he pretended like that fact didn't bother him at all. "I sort of asked Santana Lopez out for dinner."

"Who is this girl?"

To Kurt's surprise, his father seemed concerned rather than pleased by the news.

"She's in glee-club and Cheerios with me."

Kurt understood the reaction better when his dad asked, "Did I do something that you're not telling me about here? 'Cause you know you don't have to play sports and date cheerleaders just to make me happy, right? I thought we'd settled all that."

A warm smile blossomed on Kurt's face at those words. He still found it a little disconcerting – in an altogether wonderful way – every time he received proof that his dad truly accepted the fact of his being gay, and loved him just as much as ever, regardless. "I know that, Dad. This isn't like when I was seeing Brittany. Santana did me a big favor yesterday and all she asked for in return was for me to take her out on one perfect date."

"I don't get it," his dad said. "Why does she want to go out with you? I mean, no offense, Kurt. You're a good looking kid. Take after your old man that way. But does she know things aren't gonna get . . . y'know, _romantic_?"

Kurt smiled at the joke, appreciating his father's effort to keep this conversation light. "She knows I'm gay, Dad. It's okay. I'm not really sure, but I think maybe Santana does want romance. Not the real thing, just the Hallmark card kind. I don't think she gets much of that."

"Not very popular?"

"Uh, no, more like the exact opposite of that. She's kind of a slut."

Burt frowned at his choice of adjective but did not argue it. "So you're gonna be Rock Hudson to her Doris Day, huh?"

Kurt laughed. He had loved watching those sappy old movies on the classic-film channel when he was little. "Exactly." Gesturing expansively toward his open wardrobe, he said, "Which brings me back to my problem. What does Rock wear on his date?"

Giving the matter some honest consideration, Burt stood and perused the dizzying array of choices. Then he reached in and pulled out a garment bag. "I'd go with this."

Kurt blinked. It was the midnight blue suit that his dad had bought him when he'd been asked to be a groomsman at his very-conservative cousin's wedding last year. He had not worn it since. It had been tailored to fit and Kurt knew that it looked good on him, but it was just so very _plain_. "This?"

Burt reached back into the closet and rummaged. "With this," he suggested, pulling out a beautiful sapphire blue vest that Kurt normally teamed with a black long-sleeved shirt and his gray plaid trousers, with a fedora added just for flair. "I'll loan you a tie. I've got one that will look great with this. Your girl wants the fantasy. You wear this, you're gonna knock her socks off."

He grinned, realizing that his dad was really enjoying this moment. It felt weirdly like playing dress-up, which he had to admit appealed to him, but at the same time it probably soothed that long-abandoned fantasy his father had revealed about having wanted a chance to talk girls with his baby boy. "Thanks, Dad. This is perfect."


	4. Chapter 4

One hour later, promptly at 7pm, Kurt Hummel sat in his truck looking up at the rather imposing home of Santana Lopez with a mixed feeling of excitement and nervousness. Somewhere during the course of his preparations for tonight, he had started having fun with the whole role-playing aspect of it. It had been sort of like rehearsing for a play, but now came the hard part.

"Show time," he murmured.

Straightening his borrowed tie in the reflection of his rearview mirror, Kurt smiled. For someone who typically favored flannel shirts and denim, his father had surprisingly good taste when it came to formal wear. Kurt had grown a little taller and a little leaner over the year since that family wedding, making the fit of the suit even more flattering, and he had happily agreed with Dad's suggestion to pair it with his black dress shirt and the sapphire vest. Accented by a thin, subtly patterned blue and gold silk tie that Burt admitted to not having worn since he was courting Kurt's late mother, and polished black shoes, the outfit looked both handsome and classy. With his hair brushed back so that it drooped down in a high, attractively tumbled wave over his right eyebrow, Kurt thought that he actually looked his age for once. Maybe even as old as seventeen! It was thrilling.

Picking up a small box and a bouquet of flowers from his passenger seat, Kurt got out of the truck, smoothed his lapels and held his head high as he walked to the front door and rang the bell.

The door opened almost immediately and a beaming woman who looked exactly like a future snapshot of Santana greeted him with, "You must be Kurt. Please, come in."

Flashing his best smile, he said, "Thank you, Mrs. Lopez." Noting that his date was nowhere in sight as he was led to a family room and gestured to sit upon a sofa, he added, "I hope I'm not too early."

"You're fine. Santana will be down in a minute," a man's voice said brusquely from behind him, bringing Kurt springing back up to his feet. The man, burly with a graying moustache and the same sharp dark eyes as his daughter, waved him back down. "So, Kurt, how long have you known our daughter?"

"Um, a few months," he replied, shifting a little nervously when Mr. and Mrs. Lopez sat down, flanking him rather uncomfortably close on the small sofa. "I met her when she joined the glee club at our school."

Mrs. Lopez smiled. "I was so happy when she did that. She has a beautiful voice, doesn't she? But she's always been so shy."

Kurt struggled to keep his sharp tongue sheathed. _Shy_ was the last word he would ever have chosen to describe Santana. "W-well, I guess maybe cheerleading has helped some."

Mr. Lopez nodded. "It's good for her. Bringing her out of her shell. We were pleased when she told us you'd asked her out tonight. Heading to the mall with a group of friends is all well and good, but young people don't seem to have real dates anymore."

"A pretty young girl should go out sometimes, with a nice boy who knows how to treat her right," the mother said, patting his arm.

The weirdness of this situation was getting stronger by the moment. This seemingly nice, average, middle class couple did not know the first thing about their daughter. Or him. It was obvious that they did not realize the nature of this date, or that he was gay, and he'd bet his entire collection of Mark Jacobs jackets that they actually believed Santana was still a virgin.

"You have nothing to worry about, ma'am. I have nothing but the highest respect for your daughter," he said truthfully, not sure he could trust himself to say anything else without bursting into giggles.

Fortunately, Santana chose that moment to enter the room, thereby saving him. Kurt stood at once, his smile genuine as he got a good look at her. Other than a few costumes for New Directions, he had never seen Santana wear anything other than her cheerleading uniform and he was pleasantly surprised by her red satin dress with spaghetti straps and a flared skirt, her long hair loose around her shoulders.

Handing her the bouquet, he said, "You look beautiful."

Apparently pleased by the sincerity in his tone, she accepted the flowers. "Thank you. You look very nice too." Her eyes twinkled. "More GQ than Cosmo."

He grinned. "A deal's a deal." Ignoring the puzzled looks that Santana's parents were exchanging, he pulled out the box in his pocket. "This is for you, too. I wanted to give you something to remember this by."

Genuine surprise flashed in her eyes. Accepting the slim white box, she opened it and laughed. "Thanks, Kurt."

"What is it, darling?" her mother asked eagerly.

Santana pulled out a delicate gold bracelet with several charms hanging from the links. There were two musical notes, a tiny gold pompom and a pair of miniature boxing gloves.

"It's perfect," she said, handing the bracelet back to Kurt and holding out her wrist.

He fastened the chain deftly, then offered Santana his arm. "Shall we?"

She nodded but they were stopped by Mr. Lopez's exclamation of, "Wait! I want to take a picture!"

"Dad!" Santana groaned. "That's lame."

Undeterred by the protest, the proud parents bustled the teenagers up against the nearest wall and grabbed the waiting camera, apparently already having planned this moment.

"My baby's first real date," Mrs. Lopez said with a rapturous sigh.

Santana groaned and elbowed Kurt in the ribs when he started shaking with suppressed laughter. "One wisecrack and you're a dead man," she hissed through her smiling teeth.

Kurt did not reply, but as the flash went off he suspected that he had never taken a more cheerful looking photo in his entire life.


	5. Chapter 5

"Their baby's first date?" Kurt blurted the moment they descended the steps, with the front door closed securely behind them. "What was that all about?"

She huffed. "I told you before. Sex isn't the same as dating."

"I realize that. But your parents don't have to know that you could be a teen spokes-model for _Trojan_ to know that you've been out with guys, right?"

He opened the passenger door of his truck for her, surprising himself a little with the gesture. Apparently all of his father's lessons on treating women with respect and courtesy had imbedded themselves into his subconscious without his even realizing it.

"_No_. You saw them. They're totally old fashioned! They think girls are precious little princesses waiting for nice boys to ask them out for dates, and that nothing else will happen until they eventually get married." She shrugged. "It just doesn't work that way in the real world. I put out, so I'm popular. That doesn't mean I have guys showing up on my doorstep with nice suits and pretty flowers every Friday night."

"So you wanted to give them the fairy tale," he said, buckling into the driver's seat and starting the engine. He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "Guess if anyone can understand that, it's me. I've gone to some really stupid lengths to try and give my dad the illusion that I was straight, but when I finally found the guts to tell him the truth, he was amazingly cool about it. Maybe your parents would be, too."

Santana grimaced. "Or else they'd be like Quinn's and throw me out on my ass. Actually, they'd probably call our priest to stage an exorcism, and then shunt me off to the nearest nunnery to repent my sins." She shrugged. "They're better off not knowing the truth, and I'm definitely better off with them not knowing. That's why I asked you to do this. Now they'll be happy and I can get them off my back about finding a 'nice young man' for a while."

Pausing for effect, he said, "You're not trying to tell me that they're planning our wedding back there, are you?"

With a surprised burst of laughter, she said, "No! But just the same, thanks for not giving anything away."

"All part of the fairy-tale service," he quipped, tipping an imaginary cap to her. "You slew a couple of fire-breathing dragons for me, so now I'm playing the role of Handsome Prince for you. It all evens out in the end, and we Damsels in Distress gotta stick together."

She snorted. "Actually, I was kind of afraid that you'd show up on my doorstep looking more like the fairy godmother."

"Oh, no. Do not go there," he mocked back. "You can insult the voice, the height, even the fact that I still can't turn a decent cartwheel after two months as a Cheerio, but _nobody_ makes fun of the Hummel sense of style. Believe me, one day I will be **legend**."

Santana laughed again, delighted with the acerbic comeback. "Well, I have to admit, you definitely look the part tonight, and you do have good taste in jewelry."

Kurt nodded thanks for the compliment, happy that she appeared to really like the gift he'd picked out and honestly surprised by how comfortable he felt in the presence of this tough girl who had always frightened him a little bit. When she dropped the attitude, Santana Lopez was surprisingly pleasant company.

After a couple of minutes spent driving in companionable silence, she asked, "So, where are we eating anyway?"

"I thought I'd take you to DiNicola's," he said. "Unless you don't like Italian, in which case we could just go to Breadsticks or something."

Surprise filled her dark eyes. "No, that'd be great. They have really good food." A smirk flickered over her lips. "We just better hope we can burn away all those calories by Monday, or Miss Sylvester will probably throw us both off the squad."

Kurt flashed her a dimpled smile. "We can't have that. I guess we'll have to find something else to do after dinner. After all, if I just feed you and then dump you back on your doorstep, what kind of "cliché perfect" date will that make me?"

"What are you thinking?"

"Well, I had been intending to just take you to a movie, but if you want, we could go do something else. There's that new miniature golf park out by the Interstate, or that bowling alley that Finn loves so much. Those are probably kind of lame places to take a girl, but nightlife in Lima doesn't offer a whole lot of options for the under-21 crowd."

Santana grimaced. "Tell me about it." She considered the choices for a moment, and then said, "If anybody I know saw me in bowling shoes, I'd probably have to kill myself, and mini-golf is something my grandfather would make me do with him. I guess Rinky-Dinks is probably out of the question, right?"

Startled, he said, "I thought you hated that place."

Looking a little embarrassed, she said, "I did, until I tried it. It was kind of like glee-club. Totally geek chic on the outside but a lot of fun once you got past the external suckage."

As one of the original five members of Glee, Kurt shot her a glare just on general principle. "We could go there, if you really want to. April Rhodes doesn't own the place anymore but it's still exactly the same. Karaoke stage and all."

"How do you know?" she asked slyly.

"Like I said, not a lot of options in Lima."

"Kurt Hummel, karaoke king?"

"Uh . . . no."

"_Never_?"

"Not once."

"Oh, I _**so**_ dare you. You're the guy who always pouts about not getting enough solos, right? You should totally be into this."

Blue eyes sparkling with enjoyment, he reminded her, "Who said anything about solos? I thought tonight was all about us staging a duet."

She grinned. "Is that supposed to be a challenge?"

A matching grin lit his face. "Yes, I believe it is."

"You're on. What are we going to sing?"

"I'll tell you when we get there."

"In other words, you don't know."

Kurt smirked. "Of course I know. I just think it'll be more fun if it's a surprise."

"Tell me."

"Nope."

"Hummel!"

"Sorry, I can't hear you."

She rolled her eyes. "Kurt! Come on, spill it!"

"Don't you know anticipation is half the fun? I thought you, of all people, would understand the value of foreplay." He laughed when she punched him sharply in the upper arm. It hurt, but the expression on her face was just too funny. "Trust me?"

Kurt's laughter died out, a surprised feeling of contentment filling him when she unexpectedly gave up the interrogation and said simply, "You know what? I do."


	6. Chapter 6

Dinner was a very pleasant affair. DiNicola's was a small family-owned restaurant, more popular with adult couples than high-school kids, but the atmosphere was homey and pleasant. Conversation flitted easily from topic to topic, most often centering on cheer and glee, but occasionally veering into more serious matters like bullies, finals, and the stylistic nightmare that passed itself off as Rachel Berry's wardrobe.

They did not agree on everything, and disagreed quite vehemently on some subjects, but they both enjoyed the arguing as much as the agreement. Kurt harbored no illusions that anything would be different between them at school on Monday morning, but he could not shake the certainty that he had just made a real friend.

Rinky-Dinks was only two blocks from the restaurant so they decided to leave Kurt's truck in the parking lot and they walked, interlaced hands swinging between their bodies.

"Is it weird that I'm totally into this?" Santana asked, giving his hand a squeeze. "I mean, seriously, if anybody had told me on Monday that I'd be spending Friday evening eating lasagna, and talking guys, and even going roller-skating with you, and loving every minute of it, I'd have thought they were completely insane."

"Me, too. I mean, I do stuff with Mercedes sometimes, or with Tina and Artie. Even Finn every once in a while. But somehow, with the exception of shopping, I always seem to end up doing whatever they want."

She raised her voice a little as they entered the roller-rink and the surrounding noise grew much louder. "Like what?"

"Well, for example, with Finn there are no food groups outside of burgers and anything you can't turn into a sports metaphor is usually over his head. He's really a wonderful person, but occasionally a little tough to carry on a conversation with."

Santana laughed. "I have that problem with Brittany sometimes."

Kurt laughed. "No kidding. I honestly don't know how you do it. Brit is a total sweetheart but after a half hour with her, my brain starts to hurt."

"She's worth it."

"They all are, I think. I've never had a better group of friends." He tossed his head, deciding he might as well be honest. "Actually, before this year I never had a group of friends at all."

Startling him, Santana shifted closer and wrapped her arm around his waist. "Better late than never, I guess."

Noting that she did not seem in a hurry to release him, Kurt draped his arm over her shoulders and gave her a little hug in return.

"So, this place is your hang-out. What do you want to do first; skate or sing?"

He sighed, pressing his free hand against his stomach. "I think I just consumed my own body-weight in pasta back there, so skating is probably the smarter option. I'm definitely not up to singing yet."

Santana raised a mocking eyebrow. "You _were_ packing it away pretty good."

"At least I didn't eat a whole loaf of garlic bread by myself."

"No, you just inhaled your entire plateful of tiramisu, and then finished half of mine."

A guilty grin flashed over Kurt's face. "I like tiramisu. Besides, dinner was the first meal I've had all day."

"Diet?"

"Nerves," he admitted, bringing an incredulous look to her face. "What? You didn't think this was going to go very well either, did you?"

Unable to deny that, Santana kept her peace as they moved up to the skate-rental counter.

"What can I get you?" the clerk asked cheerfully.

"A ladies size . . . seven?" he guessed, glancing down at Santana's stylish red flats.

She nodded. "You and Mercedes really do go shopping a lot, don't you?"

Ignoring the tease, he continued, "And a men's size eleven."

Her eyebrows rose as they accepted the skates and moved to a table to change into them. "You wear an eleven? What are you, like five-_eight_? Dude, seriously, we may have to renegotiate our deal here. Brittany didn't mention that you came with fringe benefits."

A hot blush swept over Kurt's face as he removed his loafers and quickly laced himself into the black leather skates. "I don't. She didn't. I mean, you know, even if I _wasn't_ and we _had_, it's not like . . . I mean, it's not that I'm ashamed or anything, but . . .um."

Santana burst out laughing at his increasingly uncomfortable speech. "I was only kidding, Kurt! God! It's no big deal, anyway. And all the girls have known that you have clown feet since you let us try on your Lady Gaga shoes."

"I do not!"

Positioning her petite foot next to Kurt's much larger one, she said, "The skates don't lie, Sasquatch. Come on, let's get out there."

Grumbling under his breath about growth-spurts and physical proportion, Kurt stood and removed his suit coat, loosening his tie and rolling his cuffs up for comfort before accepting the hand that Santana extended, helping her to her feet and leading her out onto the polished wooden floor. They moved easily together, gliding over the smooth boards like a well practiced team and as Santana continued to smile and laugh, Kurt soon found his earlier good mood making a comeback.

For awhile they just followed the rhythm of the music playing over the loudspeakers, skating smoothly, but then the tempo increased as a disco song took over for the previous slow ballad, and they began to move faster. Releasing Santana's hand, Kurt skated backward for a few moments, facing her. Then he executed a neat spin move on his right foot, sketching a little bow when she clapped for him.

Not to be outdone, Santana increased her pace, skating away from him to build up her momentum before doing a neat split and sliding smoothly back up again, which earned her a smattering of applause from other skaters as well as Kurt.

The club was not busy tonight, leaving lots of space to play, and the two teens made the most of it. They alternated between fast and slow, sometimes skating together and chatting and sometimes splitting up to show off their assorted - and usually made up on the spot – skills. Not every move was well-coordinated or carried off without a stumble, but they were having so much fun that neither one cared.

At last, Kurt called a break, dropping to an out-of-breath stop in the chair he had previously departed. Santana followed him, coming in too fast and falling straight into his lap.

"Whoa!" he said, steadying her balance. "Are you okay?"

Pulling a long strand of dark hair out of her face, she laughed. "I'm fine." Repeating the gesture, she brushed Kurt's drooping bangs away from his eyes and trailed her fingertips down his cheek, the gesture so tender and intimate that his gaze widened in alarm. Seeing the uneasiness, Santana smiled a little bit sadly. "Sorry, Kurt. Thanks for catching me."

Kurt ducked his head, recognizing the double meaning in her words. "Maybe we should go now."

Santana took a deep breath and shifted out of his lap, reaching down to unlace her skates. "I think you owe me a duet first," she said nonchalantly, avoiding looking at him as she pretended that the previous awkward moment had not occurred. "Or were you lying when you said you had a song all picked out?"

"I was going to suggest 'After All' by Cher and Peter Cetera, but now I'm not so sure that's a good choice. It's a bit too much of a classic love-ballad. The vocal ranges are perfect for us, though."

She smiled and sat up. Grasping his hand, she gave it a firm squeeze. "I think that would be great. I just have to ask, though. What _is_ it with gay guys and Cher?"

Kurt shrugged. "I don't know. Ask a cross-dresser. Anyway, Cetera has the higher vocal range so that means you get to be Cher."

Her dark eyes gleamed. "Sweet. Point me to the stage!"

He laughed, allowing himself to relax again. "Just give me a second to get my skates off."


	7. Chapter 7

I wasn't sure if I should bother showing the Karaoke since we can't actually hear them singing, but the story didn't feel quite complete without it.

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The light crowd of skaters showed little notice of Kurt and Santana as they spoke with the DJ, but when they approached the small stage at the center of the roller rink with microphones in hand the interest level picked up.

"The next dance is a couples-skate," the DJ's melodious voice announced. "This young man and his lovely lady are going to do the honors for us, so grab hold of the one you love and get yourself out here on the floor."

Soft familiar chords of music began pumping through the overhead speakers. Giving Santana a smile, Kurt began to sing to her.

Well, here we are again;  
I guess it must be fate.  
We've tried it on our own,  
But deep inside we've known  
We'd be back to set things straight.

Then Santana took over, her clear alto voice providing a perfect counterpoint to Kurt's gentle tenor.

I still remember when  
Your kiss was so brand new.  
Every memory repeats,  
Every step I take retreats,  
Every journey always brings me back to you. 

The two voices grew stronger as they blended together on the chorus, hands stretching out to link in a moment of spontaneous symmetry.

After All the stops and starts,  
We keep coming back to these two hearts,  
Two angels who've been rescued from the fall.  
After All that we've been through,  
It all comes down to me and you.  
I guess it's meant to be,  
Forever you and me, After All.

As they wended their way through the next verse and repeated the chorus, both teenagers were staring into each others eyes and smiling as they allowed the music to carry them and express the unexpected joy they had both found in this night. The passionate strength of their voices faded into a quiet and altogether beautiful harmony as they softly repeated the final line of the chorus.

I guess it's meant to be,  
Forever you and me, After All.

Taking a step closer, Santana kissed Kurt on the cheek. Both of them jumped when the surrounding crowd burst into enthusiastic applause. Sharing a grin, they sketched a bow for their audience.

"Anyone else want a turn?" Kurt asked, holding out his microphone. A group of college-age girls accepted the challenge, taking their place as Kurt and Santana left the stage.

"We could have kept going," she pointed out as they walked back over to the table to collect Kurt's abandoned jacket and their discarded skates.

He shook his head. "It's getting kind of late. When we were leaving, your dad made me promise to have you back by eleven, so we should probably go."

"Yeah, I guess. Too bad, though. That was fun."

He smiled. "It was. Maybe next time we can do more."

"Next time?" she repeated; her tone slightly incredulous.

Kurt stopped; face flushing as he realized that he had completely forgotten the true nature of this date. Just a favor in return for a favor. Nothing more. Picking up her skates, he returned both sets to the rental counter and paid for their time.

The two of them barely spoke on the walk back to Kurt's truck and the ensuing drive home. A strange awkwardness had descended over them both and neither seemed capable of recapturing their earlier easy banter.

As they pulled up to Santana's house and got out of the vehicle, Kurt heaved a silent sigh, a bit surprised by how disappointed he felt to know that the clock had struck proverbial midnight and the fairy tale was over.

He walked Santana to her door in silence but when they reached the porch, he said, "Thanks for everything, Santana. I'll understand if you have to ignore me completely next week at school, but I just want you to know that I won't forget what you did for me yesterday, or what a great time I had with you tonight."

"I had a great time, too," she told him. "You're a really good guy, Kurt. Don't let the losers get you down or give you shit for being who you are."

"I won't." He smiled. "So, I guess that means our deal is complete."

A sparkle of mischief came into the girl's dark eyes as she slid her arms around his neck. "Not quite."

Kurt could feel his cheeks burning at the reminder of his promise. He had hoped Santana might let him out of this part but clearly she had every intention of making him honor it to the letter. He licked his suddenly dry lips, hoping ridiculously that Santana did not share her best friend's taste in lip-gloss. Root beer was just not his favorite flavor.

Taking a deep breath, Kurt bent forward, closing his eyes against her overwhelming proximity as their lips met.

Santana's embrace tightened. Her mouth was soft and warm against his and as she teasingly licked his lips Kurt instinctively copied her. Cherry lip-gloss. Much nicer.

Brittany's kisses had been light and teasing, attempting to coax a level of enthusiasm from Kurt that he just could not manage. He had been distracted by the novelty of the experience and the – admittedly twisted – hope that his father would show up and catch them together. Santana's kiss was very different. It was sensuous and determined, making Kurt's temperature rise and his knees go a little bit weak, though the rest of his body remained stubbornly unimpressed. He felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed by this. He was definitely not ashamed of his attraction to boys, but life might have become a little bit easier if he had discovered an equal enthusiasm for girls.

As Santana broke the kiss, Kurt took a step back, brushing at his now cherry-flavored lips with his thumb.

Watching him, Santana smiled, shaking her head at him with unmistakable fondness. "Just friends, huh?"

"Just friends."

She nodded. "See you at practice on Monday?"

"I'll be there. Good night, Santana."

"Night, Hummel."

He laughed. Yep, their deal was definitely completed. Dropping a second quick kiss on her cheek, Kurt turned and walked back to his truck with a light step that perfectly matched the feeling in his heart.

Turning back, he watched for a moment as Santana disappeared inside the house, wondering what kind of story she would decide to feed her hopeful, sweetly gullible, parents to explain why Prince Charming would not be making a return appearance.

He would probably never know.


	8. Epilogue

I began this story with a moment of violent intolerance, so I thought I would end it with exactly the opposite of that. Thank you so much for all the enthusiasm and comments. You kept this story going. : )

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EPILOGUE

The drive home was a short one, and soon Kurt was walking inside his own front door, entering quietly and locking up behind himself as he crept inside. His dad and Carole Hudson were both typical early-birds and light sleepers and he did not wish to disturb them.

It was a surprise, therefore, to find a light on in the living room and his father sitting before the muted television set, drowsing through a set of sports-statistics scrolling across the large screen.

"Dad?" he called softly.

Burt Hummel stirred, breathing deeply as he pulled himself awake. "Hey," he grunted. "How'd it go?"

"Better than I expected. We had dinner, then went skating over at Rinky-Dinks." Kurt paused, and then blurted, "Were you waiting up for me?"

A jaw-cracking yawn delayed his reply and Kurt automatically yawned in response, making Burt laugh. "Sorry about that. And, yeah, I was."

"You didn't have to."

"Sure, I did," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "One of the perks of parenthood; waiting up to see how your kid's first date went. You'll understand one day."

Walking over to the sofa, Kurt laid his jacket neatly aside and plopped down next to his dad. He shifted, happy when the familiar strength of his father's arm dropped around his shoulders and snuggled him in closer. "I wouldn't count on that. Santana kissed me goodnight when I dropped her off. I have to assume she's really good at it, too, but nothing happened."

Understanding his inference, Burt's embrace tightened a little. "So? Just means your kids will be like your friend Rachel."

"Wow, now _there's_ a thought guaranteed to end the Hummel line once and for all."

He laughed when his dad gently tapped his chin with a mock punch. "Smart ass. You know what I mean."

Tipping his head over to rest on his father's shoulder, Kurt said, "I know." After a brief pause and a second, deeper yawn, he said, "Romance may be out of the question, but Santana is really great. She's never seemed like somebody I would want to be friends with before. But now I hope we will."

"Be friends?"

"Yeah," he agreed, eyes sliding closed against his will. "Santana the Warrior Cheerleader is pretty cool, once you get past the armor."

Burt jogged him a little. "Hey. You aren't making much sense there, buddy. You falling asleep on me?"

"Mmm, hmm," he mumbled, nestling in a little tighter against his father's incredibly comfortable shoulder, for once completely content with the world.

"Just checkin'." With a small chuckle, Burt turned the volume up a little and settled in for a long stay.

THE END


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